I think my kitchen window is quite pretty (don't you?) in the twilight this spring. When my time passes, and I can no longer create such scenes, somewhere on earth a soul with a similar sensibility will be born. (S)he will also love color, as I do, and smokey seaglass, and the angle of light in late afternoons, the shape of candlesticks, the interply between glass and wood, water, dye, shape and size all sharing a common platform, a simple white shelf.
As I have aged, I occasionally have wondered what kind of obituary my passing might yield. There is plenty of material in what I have done -- interesting jobs, writings, awards, etc.-- but if I could write my own story it would focus on less-known things.
The favorite moments of my life, for example, have been the times I have had the chance to actually help somebody else. I've advised many young writers to pursue their passions, introduced people to each other, written recommendations, and done whatever little things I could to move someone's career along.
None of this can be documented, nor would I wish it to be. In my view, all of us should be primarily focused on how to help one another, as opposed to competing and undermining each other. If karma exists, we will achieve our rightful rewards.
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Above all else, I am proudest of my life as a father of six special people. That work is something all of us who have done it, women and men alike, know is a thankless yet the most rewarding enterprise of all.
The proof, as they say, is in the pudding.
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